


I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly

by temperamental_mistress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Fantine Lives, Force-Sensitive Valjean, Gen, Mistakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: Inequality reigns in a far cornerof the galaxy, where one systemhas gone from monarchy to empireto republic and back again.The Force is a point of contention,revered but not used by the religious,studied and practiced in secret by those whoseek to end the cycle of injustice.Living under a false name,Jean Valjean hides in quiet fearof the day that his past catchesup to him….





	I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly

Mornings at the factory began early. The women arrived at sunrise to begin their daily labors, but Madeleine arrived earlier, in the grey light before dawn. In the stillness and solitude of his office, he could find peace, even if just for a few moments. His days were an assault on his senses, natural and otherwise. Every shout, each dropped tool clattering against the floor left him anxious and tense. The constant hum of life and machinery was impossible to tune out. That extra, unknowable sense that he did not dare acknowledge save for when he was alone made him acutely aware of all the lives that depended on him, their fears and frustrations as real as his own.

 

The tiny room overlooking the factory floor was his only refuge. He alone knew the key code, though there was nothing of value in the bare space. He poured his credits into the factory itself, made provisions for the lives of his employees, and left himself just enough to look the part of a respectable factory owner. The lock was as much to keep him in as it was to keep others out. Only when the factory was empty and still, and the door to his office locked tight did Madeleine feel safe enough to be Jean Valjean.

 

Try as he might to tuck away all knowledge of his past, all consciousness of the man he was beneath the tailored clothes and practiced manners, Jean Valjean was ever just below the surface. One thoughtless moment could bring his past crashing down on top of him, negating every good he tried to do on this tiny, out of the way planet. He was careful beyond measure, never allowing the women to see his fear or exhaustion. His morning meditation was the sole opportunity he gave himself to release the pent up emotions hidden behind Madeleine’s polite smile.

 

Even alone, it took time to calm the frantic beating of his heart, to let his constant vigilance turn to simple awareness of the world around him. If he sat long enough, he could feel the street coming to life just beyond the factory walls as clearly as he felt the old scars marring his skin. If he sat still enough, the connections between everyone and everything would come into focus as time passed and the sun rose. That sense that was the source of his fears, the reason he was forced to bear a false name and persona, was the same that brought him peace when he allowed it to. With his head and his heart clear, he could muster the strength to cloak himself anew in his invented life and face the day ahead.

 

Some mornings, the universe had other plans.

 

The day began like any other. Madeleine emerged from his office to greet his employees as they arrived. He had a smile for each woman, made quiet inquiries into the health of ailing family members, and gave them the respect the rest of society preferred to deny them. Droids were cheaper, but he knew these women would be hard-pressed to find work elsewhere. By mid-morning, he had completed his third circuit of the factory floor and was prepared to retreat to his office to tend to the forms and correspondence that needed his attention. He let the door shut behind him, but did not lock it - he would remain Madeleine until the last woman had returned home.

 

The moment the door hissed closed, the commotion began. He ignored it at first, the sounds too quiet to indicate an injury, but kept an ear tilted toward the door regardless. The foreman could handle whatever problems arose and would inform him if it required his intervention. As Madeleine crossed the floor to his desk, he was struck by an overwhelming sense of anger and fear, the strength of it nearly knocking him from his feet like the tide rushing in. The voices grew louder even before he could get the door open again.

 

All work had ceased on the factory floor, replaced by a shouting mob of women with the foreman and a brawl at the center. Madeleine stepped calmly through the crowd, his employees parting like water on either side of him, only a handful requiring a touch to a shoulder to draw their attention away. That sense of fear, of anger, of _desperation_ grew stronger as he approached the source of the disturbance.

 

He cleared his throat, and the room stilled but for the heavy breathing of the two women who had been fighting. One had a handful of the other’s golden hair, the other had torn the sleeve of the first. A pre-recorded holo-disc sat on the floor between them.

 

He looked to each woman and the foreman in turn, then spoke only as loud as necessary for them to hear, “I hope we can discuss this, like civil men and women.”

 

“Monsieur Madeleine, forgive me, I should have caught it sooner, I-” the foreman’s groveling (an annoying, unhelpful trait that Madeleine disliked) was interrupted by the older of the two women.

 

“She started this!” she pointed, without removing her hand from the other woman’s hair, “With that holo of hers, always going on about her-”

 

The younger woman’s anger crested like a wave, and Madeleine felt his heart skip a beat as it washed over him, “You stole it from me! It’s mine, and you had no right to-”

 

He cut off the ensuing argument with a wave of his hand, before the screeching could truly take off, “Enough. I would hear from each of you, _one at a time_ in my office. The holo, please.” At first, no one moved, stunned into silence by the firmness of the request. The foreman recovered after a moment and set the disc gently into Madeleine’s outstretched hand. “Thank you. See that everyone else returns to their work, and I will speak with you later.” He turned his attention to the two women as the foreman dispersed the larger group. The younger woman was clearly the more distressed of the pair, and likely not the instigator the elder accused her of being. Her face was familiar, as they all were, but he couldn’t recall the name that went with it. “Mademoiselle?”

 

The anger turned to fear, sharp and biting at the edge of his consciousness, but she brushed herself off and followed with her head lowered. There were whispers as he led her back to his office, every eye tracking them despite the foreman’s attempts to restore order. Madeleine ignored these, but hurried his step to get the young woman away from such scrutiny.

 

The door hissed closed again, and he gestured for the woman to sit. She moved stiffly, bottling her fear and steeling herself for the conversation ahead. Madeleine smiled gently as he took his own seat. “Forgive me, your name has escaped me, Mademoiselle-?”

 

“Fantine. My name is Fantine.” She did not meet his gaze.

 

“Fantine,” he repeated, hoping it would stick this time. “Will you tell me what happened?”

 

For a moment, she was silent, but Madeline didn't need to extend that extra sense to know she was terrified. “I know I shouldn't have taken the holo-disc out, Monsieur, but I couldn't help it. I was so worried that I might have forgotten something or misheard, and I just needed to be sure!”

 

Madeleine turned the disc over in his hand, “A message someone sent you?”

 

“Yes, monsieur,” she dropped her chin to her chest, and he caught a glimpse of the tears she tried to hide.

 

He held the tiny device closer, inspecting the bits of metal and silicon. They were common enough these days, useful for sending messages to those not easily reached by the usual methods. Younger folk were especially drawn to them for sending secret messages to distant lovers. There were no hints to this disc’s contents on its surface however. He gestured to the switch, “May I?”

 

She hesitated, as if surprised that he would bother to ask her permission, then nodded.

 

Madeleine pressed the switch, and a holographic image of a couple appeared above his hand. The image was too small, and the quality too poor to make out many details, but their relation to each other was easily apparent. It was a simple, short message demanding credits for the care of a child who was gravely ill. Something about their tone made Madeleine clench his teeth - there was no worry or concern to be found there. The message looped after a reminder of past payments that had been missed, and he saw the demand for the scam it was. He turned it off after a single repetition, once sure that he had understood everything.

 

“This is your child they're talking about?”

 

Fantine nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve. Madeleine produced a handkerchief from a pocket and offered it to her.

 

“Are they relatives of yours?”

 

“No, monsieur,” she said through the linen square, gathering her composure. “They are looking after my daughter for me. I send them credits for her keeping.”

 

He was nearly certain of the answer, but still he asked, “Has the child no other parent?”

 

Fantine looked away, confirming his suspicions, “I was young and stupid. I thought he would stay, that we would marry, and be happy together. I knew he was well off, that his family surely had a good name and standing. I am an orphan, my mother had nothing to leave me. I lied to myself, sure that it wouldn’t matter, that his family wouldn’t care because we were so very much in love.” There were no tears now, but Madeleine felt the deep sorrow and regret as if it were his own. The wound was old, but the scar ached with remembered pain. “He _laughed_. He never meant to stay, and I was a fool not to see it.”

 

He said nothing, for he had no comfort to offer. The weight of years in her face was heavy, one mistake paid for tenfold in poverty and misery. Her posture spoke of half a life spent fighting, of defying the universe, but somewhere beneath it all Madeleine could see the vulnerable child she had been.

 

She turned her gaze back to him, her eyes desperate and defiant, “You were young once. Surely you know what it is to be haunted by the mistake of a moment.”

 

He did.

 

It had taken him years to become Madeleine. Years of hard work, years of burying himself beneath a mask, years of living in fear that his past would catch up to him. To act outside the role he had created, even for a moment, was to risk everything.

 

Fantine was apologizing, and gathering herself up to leave, but Madeleine heard none of it. This woman and her daughter suffered as he had, forever frowned upon by society. They would fall through the cracks and disappear unless something changed. Madeleine felt himself drifting back to the humble temple where the old jedi Myriel had given him a chance to start over. Everything had changed in that moment. Without help, he would never have become Madeleine.

 

“Where is your child?” he asked, his decision made.

 

Fantine’s brow furrowed, “On Montfermeil.” The moon orbiting Paris was a seedy, overcrowded labyrinth of tall buildings and dark alleys. It was certainly no place for a child.

 

“I will go with you to get your daughter back.”

 

“Monsieur?” her eyes were wide, and bright as suns.

 

Madeleine held the holo-disc out to her, and waited until she took it to speak again, “It will not be easy for you here, and rumors will surely spread, but I will make sure you have what you need to-”

 

There was a curt, but assertive knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Old Astronomer" by Sarah Williams


End file.
